For at least twenty years, I have enjoyed walking labyrinths. Labyrinths are maze-like structures that have been used as spiritual tools for centuries. For the past seven years, I’ve been walking labyrinths throughout the northeastern United States, and blogging about them. To learn more about labyrinths, check out this page at the Labyrinth Society. To find labyrinths near you, try the Worldwide Labyrinth Locator.

It was my first day of a much-needed two-week vacation. Prior to vacation, I had discerned that what I wanted to do throughout this vacation was ponder. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was my inspiration. In Luke’s gospel, when the shepherds find Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger, they tell everyone around them all that the angels had told them about the child. Everyone who heard it was amazed at what the shepherds told them, but Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. I wanted to do some pondering myself during this break. Slowly. Thoughtfully. I wanted to, in the words of the hymn “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty,” ponder anew what the Almighty can do.

So what better way to begin pondering than walking a labyrinth? Pondering is almost the definition of what I do while walking in circles like that. There was a labyrinth not too far from my home at a Presbyterian camp in Frelinghuysen, New Jersey. It’s called Johnsonburg Camp & Retreat Center, and I hadn’t walked their labyrinth before because I didn’t want to disturb their camps or retreats. But it was the day after Christmas — what were the odds that the camp was in use? Besides, I figured that if their office was open, I’d just talk to them and ask permission.

I drove there, and found that the office was closed. So I oriented myself and found where the labyrinth was. I walked through bitter, windy cold to get there.

It was a medieval-type labyrinth, but I had trouble telling if it was seven or eight circuits. It was a rather freeform path, weaving through tall trees. The path was dirt and the walls were rocks, presumably found right there in the woods. This was my kind of labyrinth.

I had trouble nailing down my question for this walk. I decided on How can I keep my eyes open to meaning this week? I figured that would be the best way to determine just what to ponder.

I felt so at home here. This camp reminded me of the church camp I’ve been attached to my whole life, Bear Creek Camp. Not so much the look of it, but the feeling — it felt loved, it felt like it was home to many people. And this was the kind of nature I always liked, tall trees, rocks, overcast sky. The labyrinth felt so natural, built around such glorious trees. It felt so connected to the place, as I walked over roots and rocks, yet still such a familiar shaped path.

As I walked, I considered how this time off is like a retreat for me, the theme of which might be Ponder Anew What the Almighty Can Do. Only there’s no pre-written curriculum, no lesson plan, no paid leader. I’m going to find the curriculum myself while exploring as I go. It’s like a long, 14-day labyrinth.

And I thought that the key to it might be the journal I finally cracked open this morning for the first time in weeks. The journal I’d be writing in to talk about the labyrinth in just a few minutes. (I always journal immediately after walking a labyrinth — it doesn’t feel like a complete labyrinth walk unless I do. These blog posts are usually adapted from those journal entries.) I thought perhaps I could keep this journal ready, like I’ve done when on retreat in the past, ready to add to it throughout the day. Maybe write about something I’m reading, or something I do, or that morning’s Bible reading.

Or maybe not! I decided that I’d have no rules on how often or when to write — just keep the journal ready.

I reached the center of the labyrinth more quickly than I expected; this path is certainly not shaped exactly like the ones I’m used to. In the center, I saw a huge pile of rocks at the foot of a mighty tree. These rocks were smaller than the ones used to form the walls of the labyrinth, and I speculated that perhaps they were dislodged from the ground to build the labyrinth. Perhaps the foot of the central tree seemed like a good place to pile them. Why not?

I pondered about how this kind of medley of disparate rocks was symbolic of my inner life — as Walt Whitman wrote, “I contain multitudes.” There’s so much stirring within, and while it’s all connected in some way, I can never sort through it all in one journal entry, or in one fortnight, or perhaps even in one lifetime. But I don’t have to. These rocks aren’t going anywhere, and neither is my internal abundance. I can spend these days, this Christmas retreat, exploring and pondering whichever of the internal rocks seem to be shining or glittering today. As I walked out, I felt an open feeling of expectation!